Knowing Dave

After his climax had subsided he pulled back from me and, without a word, applied his finger to my arse.

He started roughly fingering my hole, developing the same rapid rhythm that his cock had followed just seconds earlier.

He said, still out of breath, "Go for it, Wes," and his finger made gentle squelching noises as it slid in and out from my moist and loosened anus.

I assumed he'd been told to do this by a former girlfriend; that if he were to cum before her, he had to do the honourable thing and bring her to her own orgasm. No turning over and going to sleep for Dave.

I mentally thanked her for educating him so well.

I reared up onto all fours and pushed my arse backwards to receive his finger. The wet, rhythmic noises became louder as my arse opened up. The pungent, anal smell, now mixing with the thicker odour of Dave's semen, became stronger.

I started masturbating my cock while he fingered my arse. My balls jumped around inside my low-hanging scrotum and kept smacking against his thumb.

He bent over my back and kissed my cheek.

Then he raised his free hand to my nipples and began gently caressing them, squeezing and playing with the sensitive tips.

He said, "Imagine I'm still fucking you, Wes..."

I gasped, "I'm imagining... I don't need any help on that, Dave!"

He smiled and kissed my cheek again.

He said, "You enjoyed it?"

My strokes were becoming faster and harder. His finger speeded up inside my arsehole to keep up with my rhythm. The noise from it became louder. 

I panted, "I fucking loved it... what about you?"

"It was way, way better than I thought it would be, Wes. And I'm not just saying that to get you off..."

He kissed me again.

I was close to cumming.

He said, "And I want you to do it to me sometime. I want to know how it feels... and I want you to have some fun..."

I grunted, "You want me to fuck you?"

"If you'd like that..."

I thought of Dave bending in front of me, my hands on his hips and my cock sliding in and out between his round, muscular cheeks. My arms around his chest, feeling his coarse wiry hair and playing with his hard sensitive nipples.

"Yeah, Dave... fuck, yeah..."

I slammed my arse back against his hand, thrusting my hips to fuck his finger as quickly and roughly as it was fucking me. Then I started cumming, my cock shooting a fountain or semen against the headboard and pillow, and up my stomach and chest and onto Dave's hand.

As the rhythm of my hand slowed down, Dave stopped fingering me. He just held his finger inside me, filling my arse with it while my climax subsided.

Then, when I was still and recovering my breath in front of him, he said, "Your arse went wild when you came... it was really going crazy against my finger..."

His finger was still inside me, feeling the last few spasms from my rectum as my orgasm ebbed to nothing.

He laughed, "That was so cool...!"

He pulled his finger out of me making a slurping sound.

I managed, "Don't you get that when you finger girls..."

"Not on that scale. I mean, there's a bit of squeezing but... Wes... your arse nearly broke my fucking knuckle, mate!"

I laughed and straightened up.

He said, "I guess you want some tissue..."

I nodded and he went to the bathroom. While he was out of the room I thought, "Well he's not too traumatised about what we just did yet. Maybe it'll hit him in the morning."

And then he came into the room, switched on the light, and we cleaned up.

His eyes were tired but unclouded with guilt or embarrassment. We were two naked guys wiping semen and lube from us but he didn't seem too upset by that.

We made jokes together and we both laughed.

Then he got back into bed and I lay next to him. He put his arm over me and I leaned over to switch off the light.

The next morning I awoke before he did and stared at his sleeping form for a few seconds. During the night, he'd turned away from me and was now lying facing the wall, but he looked content and peaceful as he breathed slowly and deeply.

I went into my kitchen, wondering how he would react when he awoke, sober and hungover. If he was going to get screwed up about the memory of what we'd done, he was the type who'd go silent on me for a few days. I imagined him sitting in his flat, staring angrily at the television that very evening, wondering why the hell he had let things get so out of hand.

I filled the kettle with water and waited for it to heat up and boil. While I was standing staring blankly at the coffee jar, I felt a painful crack against my buttocks.

I turned around and Dave was standing there, a tea towel in his hand.

Like me, he was naked, his cock hanging limply over his balls.

He grinned. "Morning, Wesley."

Then he whipped the tea towel across my thighs.

I laughed, "Hey, that fucking hurt, you twat!" And I grabbed my other tea towel to do the same to him.

We fell into the lounge, laughing and yelping, cracking the towels at each other's legs, chests and especially arses.

Then, with red streaks across our skin, we drank coffee naked on the couch and talked about what we were going to do that day.

And that, in short, was Dave's response to his first night with another guy.

As we left the flat I thought how different things were between us between then and the previous time Dave had stepped through my front door; how, in twelve hours or so, we'd gone from being friends to lovers.

I looked at Dave and he smiled at me. I thought he might be thinking the same and was going to ask him, but it sounded so twee when I tried to think of how I would put it into words that I thought I'd leave it.

So I just smiled back at him and he slapped my shoulder affectionately.

Then we walked away together...